Hush
by Charlie Chaplin 2
Summary: Inner Senshi x Shitennou, Usagi x Mamoru. Late 1950s neo-noir ish  murder mystery/crime drama. This is set in the day where detectives wore trenches, Hollywood was golden and people still called women 'dames'. Language, violence and sexual situations.
1. Prologue

So this is the very first part of a fic I have been planning since way back. Technically it's not actually ready. There's two or three major plot kinks that I need to work out before I start writing this, but I just had this urge to type out the prologue and post it up (plus it's way overdue since I promised Lovely Lytton something from this, like, almost a _year_ago).

I'm really excited about this one. I probably won't be updating it for a while (I have quite a few other write-y things going on ^_^), but I'll get there. For now, here's the first part of what Lytton has lovingly dubbed 'Hookerfic'. Enjoy.

PS: Go read EVERYTHING Lovely Lytton has ever written. Trust me. She's in my favourite author's section.

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><p>Thunder rumbled overhead, slowly, dimly, almost as if it were making a last ditch effort to be heard above the deafening drumbeat of the heavy rain.<p>

The drops of water fell from the clouds in torrents, fat, full and soaking.

The downpour drowned out everything.

Roads turned to running streams, back yards became ponds and people didn't even bother running through it. There was no point, they were drenched within less than half a minute.

Thunder rumbled overhead, slowly, dimly, almost as if it were making a last ditch effort to be heard above the deafening drumbeat of the heavy rain.

The drops of water fell from the clouds in torrents, fat, full and soaking.

The downpour drowned out everything.

Roads turned into fast-flowing streams, back yards became ponds and people didn't even bother running through it. There was no point, they were drenched within less than half a minute.

There was just so much of it, it was like standing under a waterfall, the water blinding and blurring his vision but doing nothing to cool the heat of his hate or despair. Tears poured out as heavily as the rain did and added to the already waterlogged soil of the front lawn on which he stood.

His body shook and he could barely hold his arm out, but held it he did. The pain in his chest was too raw for him do otherwise, the pangs in his heart set his nerves onto a knife edge and he wept from a wound that had pierced him to the very depths of his soul. But more than anything, it was his anger which kept his finger on the trigger and the gun pointed at Cairo's head.

"Darien…" Cairo looked like a demon on earth, too calm, too still to be real. His skin was almost sickly pale and drawn, as if sleep had deserted him and nightmares had taken its place. His white hair lay plastered against his skull, and his deep grey eyes were grim, matching the overcast sky above. He raised his right hand, extending his arm out as if to greet him.

"Don't…move." Darien did not try to hide the shake in his voice, he was grieving and he was angry. The gun stood silent and still and ready in his hand. "Don't you fucking move."

The rain continued to pound itself into the ground, the childlike sounds of plopping and slopping, pitter-pattering and splashing surrounding them and echoing in Darien's ears like a mockery of his pain.

Cairo stood deathly still. His hand still outstretched. He did not say a word.

"You killed her!" He yelled, taking a step forward, his outrage springing forth. "It was you! You fucking monster!" His shoulders shook heavily and he had to lower the gun and drop his head as he cried, the pain in his heart was too much to bear. "She loved you…" he felt as if he was being torn apart at the seams "oh God," he said, "she loved you so much…"

"Darien." Cairo took a step forward.

At his name the anger took over, winning the inner conflict against his misery, and he lifted the gun again. "Say it!"

Cairo stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Say it was you!" Darien cocked the gun.

"Don't do it Darien, think about this." Jacinto was holding his own weapon, aiming it reluctantly at his target's head. "Think! This isn't what you want."

"You don't know what I want!"

"Listen to me!" Now Jacinto was yelling too, loud and authoritative. "If you don't lower your weapon right now I will be forced to shoot, do you understand?"

He was ignored. He was outside of their world, looking in, helpless and yet the at the same time, he was the reason Darien was hesitating.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Darien screamed at Cairo, desperate to hear the words he sought and dreading them more than anything. "Tell me the truth!"

Jacinto cocked the hammer of his revolver. "Put the God damned gun down!"

Cairo turned and looked at Jacinto. "Don't!" His extended arm swivelled to face the detective. "Please, don't shoot." His said, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, of vulnerability. His grey eyes shifted to Darien's dark blue ones. "You want the truth?" He reached slowly, carefully, deliberately towards the inside of his jacket. "Fine." His voice was steady, unwavering, and betrayed none of his own deep sorrow. "I killed her." He said, and his eyes looked more tired than they'd ever been. "It was me."

Both Darien and Jacinto noticed the black gleam of the metal being pulled out and Jacinto fought desperately for control over the situation. "Do not draw your weapon!"

Once again he was ignored.

"Darien, listen to me," Cairo's voice was grave as his hand pulled out the gun from its holster slowly and obviously, "I killed her. Her death was my doing. Whether you believe my sincerity or not, you will never know how deeply I feel her loss."

Darien's tears took over him again and his arm wavered, lowering just a fraction and then raising up again, his eyes filled finally with nothing but hate, his grief defeated by his anger and his sense of betrayal. His finger tensed on the trigger.

"But please believe me," Cairo's gun was now plainly visible as he lifted it slowly, "I am going to kill you, Darien. If you let me raise this gun, then I am going to pull the trigger and I am not going to miss. You're going to have to kill me first." He pulled the slide, cocking the hammer. "One."

"Put your weapons down!" Jacinto switched targets from Darien to Cairo and back, unsure of what to do, of who to aim at, his reluctance to fire on either party adding to his own hesitation and panic. "I said put your fucking weapons down!"

"Two."

Darien's heart pounded so hard in his chest that he could hear it in his ears. The world slowed down suddenly and he became aware of everything. The rain's steady, overcrowded beat, the sound of Jacinto yelling, loud and desperate but unheard, the glint of the cold steel which waited eagerly to be heated, and the chill that reached into his bones.

The guns went off.

A woman screamed.


	2. One

Two chapters because it's been a while... ^_~ Thanks always to the lovely Lovely Lytton, my awesome beta. Enjoy.

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><p><em>So, you've come for a story, have you? A good old fashioned yarn of sex, murder and scandal? Yeah, I suppose you've come to the right person. Who better to give you something like that than a cop in Los Angeles? And not just any cop, no, you've struck it lucky. You find yourself with a Lieutenant in the Homicide division; I must have seen a few things in my time, heard some doozies from others in my profession, maybe made a deal or two with some shady characters, fucked a few roundheels, put some wiseguys behind bars...<em>

_Well, you're on the nose with your assumptions, but I'm not usually one to sit in a bar and swap tales over a beer and peanuts. I normally like to keep things close to the chest, I don't get any swell of pride by telling others about the ones I put in the chamber, in fact I'd rather forget 'em. It doesn't do any good to let the dead haunt you, not when there's so much else to try and cope with already. You don't need to add smoke to a fire. Once I close a case, I try and do everything I can not to think about it. How can you do that, you ask? Easy enough, you plunge yourself into the next one, you focus on the new dead body, and you don't stop, whatever you do, you don't give up until it's finished. And then you move onto the one after that._

_I'll talk on this one occasion, though, just this once. This one got to me. This one hit me hard and for a man whose job involves death and the worst of humanity on a regular basis, that's sayin' something._

_It wasn't a mystery why, though. That's an easy question to answer: the dame. Every man has his weak spot. Well, she was definitely mine. She was one person who was in more pain than I could ever be. She was all alone, just like I was._

_So why am I telling you all of this? I don't know, maybe I'm hoping it'll give me some kind of cathartic release._

_Perhaps I should start with the basics. The name's Walter Jacinto Summers - my mother was Brazilian, which is where I get the exotic middle name from, if you're curious. I prefer it to 'Walter'. Walter was my father's name. It makes me feel like an old man when people use it, and it makes me miss him. He was a good enough guy, it was hard for him to raise me on his own but he tried, and I was grateful for that. He was a veteran of the war, see? While he was away on duty my mother had taken two to the chest by some thug who wanted the change in her purse, so it was just him and me for a while. He died when I was nineteen. I became a cop after that._

_My friends call me Jace._

_Everyone else just calls me 'Detective'._

_I have to admit, it gets you a lot of respect, that title, but I suppose it's because most people who use it are desperate. To them, you're the one who's going to give them all the answers, who'll explain why their loved ones have been ripped away._

_"Why, detective?" they'll ask. "How could this have happened? Who could do such a thing?"_

_The worst part of it is I don't always have the answer. I'm most certainly not the benevolent being who'll give them what they're looking for. I'm just a Homicide detective. One meagre chump in a City meant to be filled with angels._

_You still want that story? Fine, you'll get it, but it's not really mine. Hell, I don't really think it's hers either. Just to warn you, it doesn't exactly have a happy ending, murder never does, of course, but I wouldn't call it a sad one, either. Life isn't like that, is it? It's not easily defined into categories, it's all shades of grey, some lighter, some dark. No logic to it most of the time. It just flows on, with or without you._

_Anyway, I'm digressing. Where were we? Ah, yes, the story. It was a case I took a little while ago. It caused a few headlines, was a bit of a sensation in the papers. It even made it to the news in the picture houses._

_It all started with Leah Hinley, better known by her stage name 'Beryl Kingdom', so it was no surprise that a lot of people were interested. Youngest daughter of the late Councilman Hinley, her mother's family were big almond exporters which meant she'd had money coming out of her ears since the day she'd been born. It certainly helped her acting career. You see, Beryl wasn't just a rising star, she was already up there, and she was all set to headline in one of the most expensive movies ever made to date._

_She was a beauty alright, you had to give her that. She may have bought her way into everything else, but what a broad - bright eyes and a wicked smile that made any fella who saw her pictures tight in his pants. No one knew what colour hair she really had, but she used to favour red; it suited her best, one of the secretaries back at the station had said so. It was a good thing too, because that was to be the last colour she'd ever have._

_Bright red hair and a smokin' green dress. That's how we found her; only problem was, she was dead._

* * *

><p>"You drive like you're a snail."<p>

Jace cut his light blue eyes at the man sitting next to him in the passenger's seat of his _1951 Ford Customline Fordor_, watching him as his large arm hung loosely out of the car window, a cigarette dangling from his rough fingertips. "You could have taken the bus home, you know. Or better yet, walked."

Napoleon Vincinetti, better known as 'Leo' to his friends, smirked like the arrogant son-of-a-bitch that he was and took a long drag from his cigarette. "I could have," he said, "but you were dumb enough to give me a ride."

The police radio crackled to life, and an old, feminine and slightly nasal voice cut above the soft crooning of Dean playing on the sound system. "Incident along Highway forty three, two miles south of division seven, I repeat, incident along Highway forty three, two miles south of division seven. Requesting Homicide presence at the location."

Leo glared at Jacinto, daring him to pick up the receiver and answer. "Don't. You're off duty."  
>When Jacinto reached for it, Leo practically growled. "She should be calling it into the station."<p>

"You know how Betty likes to give me the good ones."

Leo rolled his eyes chocolate brown eyes. "Your relationship with the older secretaries is disturbing."

Jacinto's smile was a mile wide at how it irritated his friend. "This is Detective Summers," he said, holding down the button on the receiver with one hand, his other hand still steady on the wheel. "We're on route forty three, heading north, we'll take it. What's the nature of the incident?"

"Adult female. Found just off the highway by a family who stopped on their way home." There was a pause, and then all formal pretence was abandoned. "I think it's someone famous, Jace."

Leo threw his hands into the air, huffing. "Copy that, Betty, I'll give you all the details over coffee tomorrow morning."

The old, feminine, nasal voice named Betty sounded pleased. "You'd better. I'll bring the almond cake."

"You sure your other half will approve?"

"He knows I always keep a slice or two just for you. Have fun, handsome."

Jace played along. "You too, sweetheart," he said before hanging up the receiver and stepping a little heavier on the gas pedal.

"You're supposed to taking me home." Leo was no longer in the mood to sit back and smoke. He flicked his cigarette out of the window with as much force as possible, the lighted end flying away from the car like a firefly caught up in the wind. "I'm not Homicide anymore, I'm Vice. Vice doesn't handle famous women if they're not breathing."

Jace shook his blonde head, not buying the spiel. "You can't tell me that you're not curious."

Leo practically harrumphed, looking away into the black abyss that was the night time, unable to deny the truth of Jace's words.

"You don't have to say or do anything, just come and watch."

Leo turned his head from the window to glare, as if Jacinto had just asked him to do the impossible.

He received a shrug in response. "It's not my fault you put a suspect into a two day coma."

Very few people had the guts to bring up that incident, let alone without adding on heaps of sympathy at the injustice of it all. "What does-"

"I'm just saying," Jace interrupted, "If you'd held your temper like a normal human being, you wouldn't have been in this situation." He took a cursory glance at his former partner before darting his eyes back to the darkness outside. Leo had tilted his fedora low, casting an evasive shadow over his eyes and hiding his reaction to Jace's comment. "You know you're dying to find out what's going on and you're just mad because you're stuck chasing after pro-skirts, bookies and misbehaving minor celebrities instead of real criminals."

"Shut your trap and drive." Leo was fuming, but he let the comment slide, forgiving Jacinto his daring just like he always did. "Speed up, you want to get there_before_those rats with cameras mess up my crime scene."

"_My_crime scene." Jace corrected.

Leo wanted to hit him.

* * *

><p>"I'm Detective Summers, this is Detective Vincinetti, what's happened?" They had arrived at the sight: the beginnings of a forest area which lined the highway. It had been cordoned off by rope and three police vehicles, but all their protection seemed to do was attract the attention of passing drivers who slowed down to a nearly complete stop in order to get a peek at the show. The press were already there, more than likely it was them who had called it into the police, and had probably moved the body into more dramatic poses while they were at it.<p>

"Get those leeches out of here before they trample over more evidence!" Leo had yelled out when a particularly intrusive photographer pushed his way passed him to get a picture of the police officers examining something in the mud.

"Take it easy detective! We've got to earn our living, same as you!" As if the insult just rolled off his back, the man whipped out a small spiral notepad from his front pocket and pulled a small pencil from behind his ear, tucking the camera under his armpit. "Say," he said, giving the detective a crooked smile, "you got any details yet? Can you confirm her identity? Is it really _the_Beryl Kingdom?"

Leo shoved the man away like he was an annoying fly and made his way to the body, where Jacinto was standing. As an afterthought he turned to one of the uniformed police officers who was apparently milling around with nothing better to do and pointed to the journalist who had just accosted him for information. "Check him, will you? Make sure he didn't take anything."

The policeman smiled and then winked. "Yes, sir. Always happy to do my duty." He began rifling through the man's pockets amid vehement protesting.

"You're all crooks, you know that? Every last one of you!"

Freeing him of some cash, a pack of cigarettes and extra film, the policeman smiled brightly. "At least we don't make our money scandalising the dead."

The photographer shook his head. "You sure about that?" He was shoved onto the hood of the police vehicle and patted down for his comment.

* * *

><p>"So what have you got?" Leo had his hands in his pockets, his hat tipped back slightly and camel-coloured trench coat tucked behind him, as if he was a child deliberately stopping himself from reaching for the cookie jar.<p>

Jacinto pointed with his notepad to the woman lying in the mud and grass, both hardened from the cold. Her skin had a blue tint to its pale edges but the weather wasn't cold enough, even in the depths of winter, to freeze her. Her upper body was covered in dark clumps of drying or matted, already dry blood. Most, if not all of it, originated from the open gashes in her skull. From her position, and the mud and foliage littering her body, it looked like she'd been dragged by the arms from the edge of the road. "Found by a father who was driving his family home. His young son needed to stop for a bathroom break. Poor kid wet his little pants when he saw the body." He moved his hand to indicate a little patch of moistened earth a few feet from Leo. "That's the spot, there."

"Looks like your killer was in a rush to dump her, or maybe he found it was heavier than he thought it would be." Leo squatted down to peer further into the wooded area behind them. "If he'd pulled the body a few feet deeper, it probably would have never been found." He shook his head, "Sloppy work. I'd say it was an amateur, and given the trauma around the head it seems whoever pulled this number on her had a score to settle, and big hands."

"Or a weapon of some kind," Jace added.

"You find fragments of something?"

"A small shard of glass embedded in the larger wound. Now tell me something I don't know, I didn't drag you out here for your looks."

Leo ignored the jab, they'd traded them all day, every day back when they'd been partners, and they were never taken seriously. Instead he was all business as he lifted his arm out and flicked out two fingers in a gesture for Jace to pass him his pen. Jace obliged, watching as Leo used it to tuck some of the victim's bloodied hair behind her ear, away from her face. "Well I can give you an unofficial ID of the body."

Jacinto sighed and shook his head lightly. "This is going to make my job difficult." The fact that Leo could identify the woman, even with such a heavily bruised face, meant that he was sure as to who it was. "Beryl Kingdom?" Jace asked, knowing he didn't need to, but hoping that he was wrong.

"Looks like it."

"The press is going to be crawling all over this." He rubbed his left eye, suddenly tired. "Do you know anything about her family? Married? Parents?"

"All I do is watch her movies, I don't know her life story." Leo stood up, gave Jace back his pen and then dusted his hands. "Did the canvassing crew manage to find any footprints?"

"No such luck, the ground must have been hard when she was dumped. I'm guessing from the decomp that she's only been dead for around twenty four hours." Jace bent down and took out the same pen he'd handed Leo, using it to test the mobility of the victim's arm. "She's probably only just coming out of rigor." He noted the darkness of her maroon nail polish, matching perfectly with what would have once been pristinely applied lipstick. He saw how her nails were broken in places, chipped in others: her hands were bruised, she'd put up a fight. "She's still wearing her jewellery." It was impossible to miss the two diamond rings, one on each hand although neither were on her wedding finger, but that wasn't unusual with celebrities, they often didn't show if they were married or not. Jace looked up to her wrist and caught sight of a shimmering golden bracelet, he let his eyes wander over her body, checking her neck and then her ears, spotting glittering green stones, most likely emeralds, amongst the diamonds wrapped around her neck and studded into her earlobes.

"Excuse me." Leo stepped aside to allow one of the uniformed officers to take a few close up photographs of the body. After snapping a few shots the young man lowered his camera and gave Leo a look. "Did I hear you right, detective? Is this really her?"

"Looks that way." Leo pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his trench. He took his time lighting it, using his left hand to shield the little flame from going out. "Of course, you can never be sure until you get a positive ID. You find anything like that yet? Purse? Wallet?"

The man shook his head in the negative. "I only just saw one of her pictures yesterday. I took my fiancee and her mother out for dinner. I think the movie was a little too racy for Mrs Brisco, though. You a fan of hers?"

"I think every red blooded male is, or was anyway." Leo took in a drag and puffed it out while his eyes travelled along the corpse. "She was one stacked dame."

The officer's eyes diverted from Leo to her breasts. His eyebrows lifted. "I'll say."

Jace called him over. "Get a few shots of her hands, then bag them along with her feet. I'm done with the body. Make sure and let the forensics boys know that I want them to check for sexual activity." He stood up and walked up to Leo, explaining the reason for his last statement. "She's not wearing any underwear."

"Only you'd have the balls to check for something like that now."

"She wasn't robbed. Looking at her dress and make up, she was all dolled up for a reason. Either she was going to a party, or she was entertaining somebody. It looks like it was the latter."

"I'm pretty sure _they'll _know all about it."

Jace smiled as he looked towards the journalists Leo was referring to. "I hope you didn't yell at too many of those reporters," he said. "I at least need them to tell me who her next of kin is."

Leo let out a small cloud of grey smoke and gave his ex-partner a shrug. "Good thing you're the charming one. I think I'm going to ask one of these fine officers to give me a ride home while you handle this," he said as the two of them made their way from the crime scene to the edge of the highway, where policemen tried to block out an ever increasing number of arriving journalists from entering the area. "You should thank Betty for all the fun you're about to have."

"Her almond cake is worth it."

_If I'd known then what I know now, I would have thought twice about that last part..._


	3. Two

The sun was rising, just peaking over the soft blue horizon, its rays casting outwards and setting the sky into an orange fire which spread over the city. It was beautiful, almost heavenly, and it stole the slight night chill from the air. Most would find it serene, but there was something about mornings which threw Cairo into chaos: first there was the dreaded sense of disappointment which accompanied consciousness, that listlessness which came from the knowledge that he was still alive. Then came the bout of happiness, a fleeting, dangerous feeling which injected itself into his heart at the mere thought of those he loved and cared for the most; it was all that kept him going.

The prospect of seeing mornings made him think, they made him worry. Life, to him, was just a long journey into nothingness, sparsely populated with moments of sheer joy and relief. The only way to dispel his melancholy was to follow an important ritual: to watch those he loved, to know they were alive for the new day. It was not something which he practiced often; even he could recognise the slow creep into insanity he was making, but he couldn't help himself. They were his family, if not by blood, then by spirit. They were his reason for being; watching them soothed his troubled mind.

There were three he followed, and watched and looked after. Three people he loved and dreamed and lived for.

Cairo's car was parked discreetly behind a pick-up truck at the corner of a T-junction. It was a small suburban neighbourhood: white picket fences, square front yards and middle-class family housing. Each identical home would probably be equipped with a television set, a washing machine and a perfect family unit. But there was one house, one in particular, which held his attention. It had a red door and a tidy front yard with a colourful windmill spinning in the corner. The windows blazed golden, the sun kissing them with King Midas' touch.

The mailbox at the front was labelled 'Mr & Mrs Zuckerman' and the little red flag was tilted up, indicating the mailman had already made his daily run. There was a glass bottle of milk on the doorstep, and a newspaper wrapped neatly on the welcome mat.

Cairo could tell there was warmth to this house. There was happiness. It was almost too perfect.

The door opened and a man with scruffy, greying hair and a striped bathrobe stepped out in maroon slippers. He yawned widely before bending down to pick up the newspaper and milk. Tucking the former under his arm, he turned and looked at the sun, taking in a refreshing breath of morning air.

"You're letting in a draught, dear!" a lady's voice called from inside the house. "You know how easily Serena can catch a cold!"

The man made to turn around and head inside, but a sound in the distance caught his attention. Instead of going back into the house he closed the door behind him, leaving it ajar, and watched as a vehicle hummed its way towards him with a small smile on his face.

Cairo had heard the sound as well. His grey eyes shifted immediately from the older man and fixed themselves eagerly onto the approaching cherry red Chevy_Deluxe Bel Air_at the bottom of the hill. He reclined into his seat, his large, stiff body visibly relaxing on sight of the driver. With a barely audible sigh a tiny patch of steam touched the his window, evaporating as quickly as it appeared.

Darien was coming home.

His dark, cloud-grey eyes watched like a hawk, following the _Bel Air_as it pulled up to the front gate. A tall, dark haired man, shoulders slumped slightly from weariness, stepped out of the vehicle, pulling out a brown leather physician's bag with gold clasps as he went. The warmth of the sun illuminated his tired features, temporarily chasing away the paleness of his skin and leaving him tanned and healthy. He met the man on the doorstep and shook his hand.

"Morning, Mr Zuckerman." His voice was deep and smooth, betraying none of the weariness his gait suggested. Cairo could hear him clearly in the silence of the early morning, the only other noise being the chirping and twittering of waking birds.

"How was your shift?"

Cairo listened intently for the answer, irrationally leaning just a fraction forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

"No busier than usual. These nights aren't easy, I don't think I'm as young as I used to be." Darien offered to take the milk from the man but he was declined.

"Nonsense, if you're not young, what on Earth do you call an old fogey like me?" The man gave Darien a reassuring pat on his back. "You're just a little more worried than usual, and that'll exhaust you more than anything. It's a natural feeling for a man who's about to become a dad." The corners of his thin pleasant lips lifted into a kind smile. "Trust me, son, you may be the doctor, but I know a few things too. Don't worry, everything's going to be alright."

Darien smiled, and the tiredness from his eyes seemed to vanish. "Did Mimi stop by?" he asked. "She said she would after her shift ended at the hospital."

Mr Zuckerman gave a small chuckle, "Of course she did. Your sister came by about two hours after you left for work and did all sorts of checks with those medical things of hers." He pushed the door open. "Everything's fine," he said. "Come on in. Have some breakfast and get some rest. You look beat."

"Is she awake yet?" he asked as they made their way inside.

"She will be once she starts to smell the bacon."

The door shut behind.

Cairo smiled and started his engine.

* * *

><p>"Ace..." she was whimpering, her head thrown back, plastering her honey golden hair to her smooth back. "Baby.. I'm-"<p>

"Shut up!" His face was scrunched tightly, sweat trickling down through his sandy-coloured hair to his temples as he concentrated on the building pressure within him. One hand was clutching the mahogany table so tightly his knuckles were white, while the other dug into her soft flesh, controlling their rhythm.

Mina bit down her plump bottom lip and did her best not to make a sound as he increased his pace, his breath and movements becoming frantic and rougher than before as he reached for his climax.

He came before she did and pulled out just as she was finishing, flopping himself into his office chair, exhausted, sweaty and satisfied.

Puffing out a long breath, Mina Zuckerman, known by most as Diana Love, leaned back further on the desk and rested on her elbows, flicking her hair lightly to move it from her face.

Ace watched her for a minute, his brown eyes dragging themselves over her soft curves, now moist with exertion. He reached up and slapped her thigh. "Climb off, doll face, you're sweating all over my documents."

She rolled her bright blue eyes and huffed in annoyance, obliging nonetheless. "You're in a great mood this morning," she commented, peeling herself away and walking to where her yellow sundress lay crumpled on the floor. "You still fighting?"

Ace grunted. "What's it of your business?"

She shrugged a smooth, delicate shoulder. "I thought you'd like to talk about it. Sometimes that helps."

He gave her a cynical laugh and grabbed onto her wrist, pulling her into his lap. "When I want your help, I'll ask for it." His hand travelled up her thigh, his thumb massaging the smooth skin down to her knee.

She leaned down, fluttering her eyelashes closed and kissed him. He kissed her back, tenderly, his hand snaking up to cup her cheeks, stroking her face lightly and moaning with pleasure. It sent her reeling. These were the moments she secretly loved with him, tender little ones that touched on the sweet person he was inside. Mina was no fool, she knew how much of a heel Ace could be, but there was something about him, especially when he was like this, that made him irresistible. "What's wrong, baby? Tell me?" She asked quietly when they pulled apart.

He sighed, their breaths intermingling with each other. "My bitch of a wife still hasn't come home, it's been almost a week."

It was not uncommon for Ace not to see his wife for days at a time, everyone knew that they fought like cats and dogs, that she spent nights in friends' houses and apartments all over the city, drunk or high with other movie stars, business men, politicians, mobsters. She was America's new siren, a real stunner, and an excellent actress to boot. She'd already headlined three movies, been in another six and had managed it all in less than five years. She'd married her agent, and he'd been the one to thrust her into the limelight but their relationship didn't seem to be the lasting kind. Mina bit her lip again as worry and guilt clouded her features. Many would have mistaken Ace's comment for worry, but she knew better. "Doesn't..." she hesitated for a second. "Doesn't Beryl start shooting today?"

He suddenly seemed annoyed and sat back. "Yes she starts fucking shooting today. The biggest goddamn part any girl could ever get, and I'm betting she's sleeping off a hangover at that queer director friend of hers. Who the hell does she think she is? She's no fucking Marilyn, not yet anyway. The studio isn't going to be happy if she isn't there for the first damned day." He pushed her off his lap, his touch no longer soft or kind. "You need to get to work."

"The club isn't opening until eight tonight," she stated, a little affronted at how he was taking his frustration out on her, "I've already rehearsed-"

"I have a fucking headache, Diana, get the message." He frowned once he realised what she'd said. "Who says my club isn't opening until eight?"

Mina blinked at his tone. "They're installing the new bar in today. You should know that, Cairo must have reminded you at least twice about it."

He stood up from his chair and walked straight to her, invading her space, his dark eyes narrowed into slits. "I don't give a shit what that oaf says, _he's_ not the boss around here, _I_am, got it?" He pulled away, turning from her face, deliberately not giving her a second glance. "Walk yourself out, babe, and be discreet about it. If Beryl comes home I don't want her seeing you." He opened the door, his shirt unbuttoned, a frown still marring his features. "Where is he, anyway? He's fucking late."

Mina angrily shoved her dress on and white heels. A snide comment was on the edge of her tongue but she reigned it in, slipping past him with only a soft clacking of her heels and a gentle brush to his shoulder. She didn't look back, she was too angry, but she made sure her gait gave nothing away. It would not do to bite the hand that fed her.

As she made her way through the hallway, white walled and glass covered, the sun hit her body but it did nothing to warm her. When she was out of his sight, she allowed her arms reached up and hug herself as exhaustion finally set in. She felt filthy and guilty, the feelings gnawing at her until all she wanted to do was cry. She refused to do so, however. Mina wasn't that kind of girl. She was stronger than that. Beryl, Ace, both of them were users, they deserved everything they got... she stopped herself, that wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. It was all wrong, everything, _everything_was going wrong. Her life wasn't supposed to be like this, all she'd wanted to was to be a star, she hadn't meant to-

"You look lost."

A deep voice, low as it was dangerous, yanked her quickly out of her thoughts. "Cairo," she said, surprised at his sudden appearance, not that it was something unusual - as tall and broad as he was, he moved like a ghost, unheard and unexpected, she was used to it and recovered quickly. She gave him a smile, sliding her arms slowly out of her position of insecurity and twisting the movement into something sensual. "Ace is looking for you," she said, ignoring his comment.

He studied her with piercing eyes, set hard onto her features as if he was deliberately trying to intimidate her. "Are you alright?"

She brushed his question away on reflex, "Why wouldn't I be?" Once the words came out of her mouth she felt silly. Giving herself a glance downwards, she noticed how wrinkled her dress was. She was still a little sweaty, her hair was dishevelled and she knew that her make up was now greasy and smudged. "I haven't had a chance to glam myself up yet. It's been a long night, I must look like a mess to you."

"You look stunning." His answer came out just as quickly as hers had, his grey eyes never wavering. "You just don't look happy."

She tilted her head up at that. Cairo had a way about him, something which made her feel like he could see right through her. Anything Ace ever said about his assistant was wrong, he didn't know Cairo at all, but then, nobody really did. "Am I supposed to be happy all of the time?"

Cairo flicked his gaze up above her, to where Ace's home office lay behind her, and then looked straight into her sky blue eyes, his slight movement indicating he knew exactly where she'd been and who she'd been doing. "Shouldn't you be happy now? Haven't you just come from fu-"

"I'm tired," she interrupted, not wanting to hear him say it. "That's all it is. It was a long night," she repeated, her bright eyes cast themselves downwards involuntarily, unable to look at him, "It's not been an easy past few days."

They stood together in silence for a moment, him contemplating her words, her contemplating his shoes, unable to look him in his face.

"I'll get Amara to replace you on the roster. You can take the night off."

"No." She looked up then, having composed herself. "Don't. I'll be fine, really. I'll get some rest this afternoon."

"You don't have to."

"I want to sing, Cairo." Her lips were pressed into a line of determination. "That's all I've ever wanted to do." She frowned, "I just didn't expect life to be like this."

He didn't like seeing her so melancholy, sadness didn't suit her. She was like the sunshine, bright and alive. She could draw people in like a moth to a flame with her carefree smile and pretty eyes, with her swaying hips and sharp tongue. Ace was ruining her, like the idiot ruined everything. He hated it. "Why do you do it?"

"Do what?" She asked, uncomprehending.

"Him."

She lifted a fine blonde eyebrow at the answer.

It didn't seem to affect him and he continued on. "He doesn't love you."

He took her by surprise again, but really she should have known, Cairo never held anything back, no matter how much it hurt. "He does, in his own way." She steeled herself, familiar with this kind of game of his - hurt you until you get your guard back up, "And it's none of your business." She wasn't angry, but she was no longer vulnerable to him.

"You're being defensive about it." Cairo gave her a small smile, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

It made Mina's heart beat just a little bit faster but she wouldn't let him see. "You're being invasive."

"I'm not the one with regret written all over my face," he put a hand into his cream pant pocket, his stance relaxing. "No one is forcing you to be with him, Mina. You're a good person and he's just a man." He didn't understand it. He couldn't see what she found so enticing about him. "How can you stand being with him?"

She saw the opportunity to put herself on the upper ground with that question and she went for it. "I could ask you the same thing. Why are running after his every pathetic whim when you could do so much better?"

"It's what he pays me for," he said, smiling. _This_was the woman he was in love with. "You fuck him for free."

Her pretty mouth twisted into a cynical little grin. "He may be small time, but I'm smaller, you think people would look at me twice for a motion picture part if Ace spread around that I used to be one of his whores? He also has enough connections for me to get my foot in the door. I can't afford to not have Ace love me."

She was an incredible actress, but he didn't believe her for a second, there was more to it than that. Ace had a hold on her, like he did with his wife, Cairo had seen it. Ace attracted women like bees on honey. "So you think you're living the dream? Fuck him until you can fuck someone higher up?"

"At some point I'd also like to do some acting." She shot back. "No-one gets anything for nothing in this world." Her arms crossed themselves delicately in an involuntary show of insecurity.

His hand came out of his pocket and he stiffened. "I hate that he gets to touch you," he stated.

She smiled at that. "Jealous?"

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. "Haven't I made that obvious enough?" He leaned in, tucking his head in the crook of her neck, careful to keep a hair's breadth away from her skin and inhaled. "You smell like sex."

Her arms pulled away and reached behind her, placing her palms on the glass window. "Turn you on?" she asked, standing her ground. She could hear his smirk.

"You'd know it if I was. I don't share well with others."

"Is that why you never touch me?"

He looked up at her, slow, deliberate. "No."

"Then why?" She was holding her breath in, too nervous to speak out any louder than a whisper.

"You don't want me to," he said, his face a solid cold mask, revealing nothing but hard, impassable wall.

"You're not the one should be making that call," she said, the nerves leaving and being replaced by frustration.

He backed away, standing upright again. The heat was gone. "You don't want me. I'm no good for anyone." He blinked and it was if the last few minutes hadn't even happened. "I'll see you later at the club, Miss Love." There had been a miniscule pause, almost a hesitation when he'd used her stage name and it flared Mina inside.

"When you say it like that, it almost sounds like you're looking down at me."

Cairo shook his head. "Not you, just your little charade."

An angered yell interrupted them. "Cairo!"

Mina shot a glance at the door of Ace's office. "Looks like your services are required, Mr Roth. Although I don't think you'll quite manage to satisfy his needs as well as I just did." Whether she said it out of spite for what he'd said earlier, she wasn't sure, but she felt he deserved it no matter what her motivation.

If he was upset by her words, he didn't show it. Instead his mouth twitched, as if he were almost amused and trying to hide it. "I'm on my way to tell him that the police are here and that they want to see him." She looked shocked, her full lips parting as her bright eyes widened. It wasn't often he got to see her looking like that, it was a novelty. "Apparently Beryl Kingdom is dead." He walked away, and missed the fear on her face.


End file.
